


The Things We Hide (Teach Me)

by NewPotato, WhateverWorks4You



Series: Teach Me Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alive Mary Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Dean Winchester, FTM Castiel, John Winchester is an asshole, M/M, Minor Crowley/Gabriel (Supernatural), Multi, On Hiatus, Parent Michael, Principal Chuck Shurley, Queer Characters, Teacher Crowley, Teacher Gabriel, Tutor Dean Winchester, divorced John & Mary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewPotato/pseuds/NewPotato, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhateverWorks4You/pseuds/WhateverWorks4You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is pretty decent for Castiel. He is well adjusted and transitioned during middle school so he could come to high school as a fresh start. And that's just what he did, except now he's having some trouble in school so his father decides to get him a tutor. Who just happens to be Dean Winchester- the soccer player and prom king that Cas is hopelessly crushing on. The catch is that if he doesn't get his grades up, and quick, he will be grounded from his life for what feels like forever. Crushes, romance, and drama ensue as Castiel figures out that there's more to being himself than there seems. What could go wrong?</p><p>ON HIATUS - but we will finish this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Essay that Started it All

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is NewPotato, and my co-author, WhateverWorks4You, and I have decided to write about some stuff very near and dear to both of us, so here's some Destiel. We really hope you love this story, and can't wait to see the turnout. Thanks for reading, let's get on to the story!

Castiel sighed softly as he steeled, readying himself to turn the essay over and reveal his score. He had worked so hard on this one, just like all the others, had gone through so many drafts. Seven fucking drafts this time, all saved on his shitty little laptop at home. He hoped to god he had finally gotten a good score, that he wouldn’t be mocked or punished for having some issues in his classes, only one class honestly. English.  He couldn’t go home with anything lower than a B, not again. And he couldn’t disappoint his dad, even the thought made him terrified. 

As he flipped it over he felt his heart drop into his feet as he saw the cruel shape of a ‘C’ scribbled in red felt-tip, circled sloppily at the top right corner. He couldn’t believe it. _ No, no, no, fuck no _ , was all he could think. The words he’d been lectured with the previous Wednesday night repeated through his mind.  _ “Castiel,”  _ his father had said,  _ “You know what these bad grades mean. Anything lower than a ‘B’ in English by the end of next week means you aren’t going to be able to ‘hang out’ with friends anymore. You’ll get home from school, and you will start on your homework. You will not go out, you will not have extracurricular activities, and your only social interaction outside of school will be your tutoring.” _ God he didn’t want to be tutored. It shouldn’t matter that he had gotten a ‘C’ so much but to his dad it did. It wasn’t fair, but he realised life wasn’t either as he packed up his bag, getting ready to leave as he heard the bell ring loudly, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Castiel, I was hoping to speak with you, do you have a moment?” His teacher called as Castiel walked for the door, hoping to just sneak out and let his father enact the punishment, hoping to let him just lay it all on the table, so to speak.. Again he felt his heart travel places lower than it should be as he waited, head drooping on his shoulders. Once all the other students were gone, his teacher turned to him and began to speak. 

“Your father contacted me yesterday via email and told me that you may need a tutor to help you catch up in my class and get where he feels you need to be. You are a very bright child, Castiel. You are also very creative. I just wish for you to be able to express those ideas clearly in a proper form and part of that is often by formal essay. This is the number of your tutor, his name is Dean. He is very kind and brilliant, with a great amount of creativity, just like you. He is also a very good teacher and will be very helpful in improving your communication. You just need contact him to schedule an appointment as I have worked everything else out with your father.” Mr. Lafitte spieled, handing Castiel a slip of paper with ‘Dean’ in a short utilitarian script with a telephone number just below it. 

His chest tightened again and it felt like he was wearing a too-small binder, slowly bruising his skin and ribs and he started to panic. Castiel didn’t care who this ‘Dean” was, the sheer fact that this was actually happening to him that took the breath out of his lungs. It took him a couple more second of breathing easily to remember his flat chest and the scars that were there to prove it. Sometimes when anything got bad enough it took him minutes to realize he didn’t need a binder anymore and it was just his emotions closing the space in his chest. He focused on breathing rhythmically, and since the bell had long since rung signalling the end of the day, the other kids had already cleared out, leaving the school practically empty. He didn’t want to go home and face his father, not yet. He needed some time to compose himself and get rid of the dregs of anxiety still clinging to him. He could go to the track and run, that always helped his to stop worrying for a little while. Yeah. That’s what he would do. 

…

The grassy field and surrounding asphalt 400 meter track was deserted when Castiel got down the sloping cement steps of the stadium that came up on the side toward the school. Since the school was on a hill they had built the seating into the side, creating a perfect view of the field. Cas stepped up onto the blacktop that shimmered with the heat, doing a couple quick stretches to loosen up. He lifted his head and gazed at the school, a large but modest mass of faded red brick and glass configured to maximize efficiency while at least attempting at inviting. He didn’t hate the school with its shining linoleum and beige painted walls, it was the people inside it that sometimes set Castiel’s nerves on edge. He shook of his reverie and looked at the track, enjoying the feeling of inhaling without constriction before starting off on his run for the day.

Castiel was on his fourth lap when the soccer team came out of the locker rooms, he heard the heavy metal side door of the gym before he could actually see them heading down the steps and into the field for practice. He enjoyed being able to watch them run drills, although today he was preoccupied. What ‘Dean’ would be tutoring him? He knew of Dean Winchester, but he was a Jock, capital J. He could have any girl, or guy for that matter, he wanted, he had the muscles, the friends, popularity, the sass even, but essay writing? And poor little Castiel was a nobody at his high school, was invisible enough that he wasn’t known for anything really. It was nice sometimes, but at the same time got under his skin. Why couldn’t everyone be recognised for who they were, positively and kindly, rather than in such a negative way sometimes. Like how the people at the bottom of the ‘social ladder’ always got stuck with negative connotations while popular people got all the good ones attached to their reputation.  _ Why does there have to be so much prejudice everywhere right now? We're all practically the same!  _ he thought, chewing on his lip as he stopped at where he left his water bottle to one side of the field, and just observing the team for a moment. 

It was amazing to watch the elaborate formations The Hunters (that was their name, after the school’s mascot) would make so quickly at Mr. Singer’s instruction, kicking the ball so gracefully and powerfully... Not to mention the way the shorts would cling sometimes and the fact that they usually played shirts against skins (like right now). Goddamn, the way Winchester looked all sweaty and just sunkissed, shadows and highlights playing on his skin as he ran, muscles just obvious enough to be sinful. God, how he wanted Dean- he was so beautiful, unfairly so really, and he acted like he didn’t know it. He acted like he was just ‘average,’ whatever that meant. Castiel shook his head as if physically shaking off the thoughts and kicked back into gear, running longer, harder, until his lungs were dry and he could feel his heartbeat in his face, and he forgot about his previous train of thought. 

He ran three more laps like that, totalling seven, almost two miles. That would be enough. Finally taking one last walking lap with his water in hand. He was a bit shaky, he didn’t run like that normally and though he felt amazing now, he knew he needed to be more careful in the future if he was really going to run that marathon he’d been planning. He needed to pace his runs better, make sure he was conserving enough energy to get to the end of those 26 grueling miles. After he was done running, Castiel decided to just grab his backpack and leave the school, resolving to shower at home. He couldn’t be caught with his fly down in the locker room, he knew he’d be ridiculed and he was terrified of the bullying that he could face if someone found out about him, about his… past, everything. 

…

Once at home, showered and dressed in some old sweats and a soft tee shirt, Castiel decided to call Dean. He knew of at least three Deans at his school: Winchester, and two others he didn’t know the last names of, one of which was in his english class.. He couldn’t be the tutor, no, he’d never gotten very good grades. It was a 50-50 chance between Winchester and the other kid and that terrified Castiel, his crush tutoring him? His tall, muscled, sexy, and apparently fucking brilliant crush tutoring him, small Castiel who wore a trenchcoat when it was cold out, who wore at least a tee shirt no matter how hot it was (this was mostly still to protect his scars), who wasn’t anything special, couldn’t even write a proper essay, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t believe this was happening and really wasn’t excited to find out if it was him or not. 

He decided making a sandwich was the best course of action for dinner, as he was horrid at cooking and could probably somehow burn cereal. Sandwiches were easy, just layers of ingredients atop a bottom piece of bread and under a top. He contemplated how he would open the conversation when he texted as he ate, worrying that he would come off sounding snooty or like an asshole. He really couldn’t do that when Dean was pretty much re-teaching this and past semesters to him, teaching him how to write an essay for god’s sakes. 

After he finished his meal, he began drafting the message. Would  _ “Hello, this is Castiel. I suppose you are my tutor for English and need to schedule an appointment?”  _ Should he say ‘would like to’ instead of ‘need to’? That did sound slightly better. This was terrifying, just trying to settle on a text message.  _ “Hello, I’m Castiel. This is Dean, correct?”  _  was the message he settled on, deciding not to mention the tutoring until he knew who it was- he didn’t right now, anyway, and that sucked a lot. 

…

Later in the evening, Castiel was typing furiously at his laptop in the front room when the front door opened, startling him. His father was home, and Mr. Lafitte had almost definitely contacted him about the grades. 

“Hello, Castiel. Your teacher contacted me..” His father began, and Castiel stopped listening. He didn’t want to pay attention to the verbal beating that he knew was coming. “So, as long as you have the grade up in a month, you may resume all activities you are grounded from currently. You will still continue being tutored by Mr. Lafitte’s recommendation, and this will continue until  Mr. Lafitte sees that you have improved and that you can do the work on your own just as productively as with the tutor’s help.” His father finished, walking to the kitchen to make something for dinner. Castiel was pleasantly surprised with the lack of hurtful words, the lack of any sort of bullying that he was usually subjected to during conversations like this. He found the ‘punishment’ pretty fair, as he didn’t hang out with Charlie, his best friend, too often anyway and the only other thing he would be cut from was running at school, but he could just run elsewhere instead, maybe the neighborhood. 

Castiel gave a single, resigned, “Yes, father. I feel this is reasonable.” He then wandered to his room, taking his laptop and trying to just make his writing better. He felt like there wasn’t anything left to change, he’d combed this essay four times already. This was where he remembered. Dean. He decided to check for a reply (again) to his earlier text. If he could just start the tutoring session as soon as possible, he could get his grades up, get them steady, and stop being tutored. It was embarrassing, even just the concept. He had always done fine, always been a good student, but now his essays were falling short and he had no clue what to do, how to fix it.  

A notification startled him out of the reverie, his cellphone’s flashlight flashing for a second or two, telling him he had a text. “ _ Yeah, this is Dean,”  _ was all it said, causing him to roll his eyes and take a breath. Well, that didn’t help him at all. Hah. 

_ “Dean… Who?” _

_ “Oh Sorry, I thought you knew. This is Dean Winchester. Mr. Lafitte was supposed to tell you that I’ll be tutoring you for his class? I thought he did.”  _ Well fuck. Depending on how he looked at it, this was either playing out as wonderfully as it could, or as horribly as it could. This terrified Castiel, there were so many ways this could play out. Too many. 

_ “Oh. He didn’t tell me who, just gave me a slip of paper with a telephone number and ‘Dean’ written on it, and since there are three Dean’s in our year alone, I figured it could be any of you. Um. Do you think we could schedule a tutoring appointment for as soon as possible? I need help on a current essay.”  _ Castiel typed out, nervous and terrified because this is Dean Winchester, and he was practically perfect, he was the Prom King, he was their team captain. 

_ “Woah, woah Castiel. No need to text me an essay right now, we haven’t even started. ;) And about the appointment… yeah of course we can if you want. Does tomorrow work for you?”  _ Castiel gaped at the flirty message, blue eyes bugged out as he grumbled to himself before he texted back. 

_ “Tomorrow is perfect, time and place?”  _ Castiel texted back, just deciding to follow Dean’s lead on this. He didn’t have the energy to fight, and really, Dean was the one being courteous and kind enough to even bother tutoring him, so why not? 

_ “How about I drive you. I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”  _ Could Dean be any less specific? 

_ “Where is this ‘perfect place’?”  _ He really needed to know. He wasn’t about to just get in Dean’s car and be taken god-knew-where for god-knew-what. 

_ “Uh, it’s a surprise, you’ll just have to see.” _

_ “I can’t say I particularly enjoy getting into cars with strangers without knowing where we are going...”  _

_ “Oh come on Cas, where is the fun in that? Live a little.”  _ At the nickname, Cas felt himself soften like room-temperature butter, chewing briefly on his lip before typing out his response.  _ What was he getting himself into?  _

_ “Fine, Dean. Do you have practice tomorrow? If so, I could just finish my run late and go to this ‘perfect place’ with you afterwards.”  _ Of course, Castiel knew there was practice. His running schedule and the Hunter’s schedule lined up now, and he had a feeling Dean knew that they did, too. 

_ “Yeah, I do actually. That’ll work. As long as you hit the showers because I’m not having anyone stink up Baby.”  _ Cas was flustered at the use of the apparent nickname ‘Baby’ and he really hoped Dean was referencing the sleek black car he drove to and from school every day but Wednesday.

_ “I can manage that. I am going to go to bed. Goodnight, Dean.”  _

_ “Alright, awesome. Night Cas. See ya tomorrow.” _

~~~~


	2. The Essay That Didn't Really Solve Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is WhateverWorks4You and like NewPotato said we're coauthors on this Destiel fic with a twist! We decided to post this chapter too so that y'all have a fuller intro to the story and we hope you like it. We won't post this often in the future but we wanted to give it a solid start and for you to see both points of view. Enjoy!

Dean smiled as he turned over his essay and saw the fire engine red ‘A+’ at the top, followed closely by a small note reading, ‘Great work Dean, this is one of your best!.’ It really was one of his best, it was on Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, a book definitely on his list of top five favorite reads. He could remember the first time he read it, staying up late into the night with a flashlight trying to keep from laughing at all the morbid jokes to avoid waking Sammy or letting his father know he was still awake. 

Everyone else around the room was either looking relieved or like they wanted to set the place on fire which made Dean grateful, and not for the first time since Junior year had begun, that he had good essay writing skills. 

“Dean?” Mr. Lafitte spoke up from the front of the classroom, “Would you mind staying after class today? I have something I want to discuss with you.”

“Yes, sir. Of course,” Dean replied despite the childish ‘Oooooo’ ing that ensued. He looked over to see Gordon’s fugly mug smirking at him. He was another member of The Hunters and just happened to also be a complete dick sometimes. Dean smirked back confidently, like he could ever be in trouble with Mr. Lafitte about an essay. But, he thought, I guess not everyone would know that, especially not that motherfucker. Dean wasn’t one of those people who flaunted their score around like a pride flag and since he was the captain on the soccer team everyone just assumed that he was automatically not an academic. Fucking narrow minded assholes. 

The bell rang out of the boxy speaker mounted on the wall as everyone packed up and got ready to leave. As he stood up Gordon made sure to walk by still smirking and punch his arm just a little too hard to be friendly. Dean and Gordon had never really gotten along. Not since Coach Singer had chosen Dean to be team captain instead of him. Now what had been a friendly competition was a little less friendly. Gordon was already out the door and Dean was glad, sometimes he didn’t trust himself not to slug that aggravating smirk right off his face. 

Dean tossed his essay into the trashcan as he walked towards Mr. Lafitte’s desk, causing the teacher to frown disapprovingly at him. Dean shrugged in response to the frown, it’s not like he could explain that if his dad saw it he would hold his own private book burning followed by drunken yelling about how if he didn’t stay focused on sports he would never get anywhere in life. 

Mr. Lafitte sighed in response but didn’t bring it up, instead he looked evenly at Dean, who leaned his hip up against the desk and crossed his arms. 

“Dean, I have a student I need you to tutor,” Mr. Lafitte started, ignoring the snort that Dean gave at the words, “I know you don’t like to flaunt your talent for writing around, but I have a feeling that you could really help this student. They are similarly minded and creative but they just seem to lack the understanding of communication that you posses. I won’t force you into it, because I would be more disappointed if Castiel had to learn from someone who didn’t want to be there. But I highly encourage you to consider doing this for him-”

“Yes.”

Dean and Mr. Lafitte looked at each other with an equal level of shock. Dean didn’t know why he had agreed so quickly to help this Castiel but it might have something to do with how he’d been weirdly drawn to the kid since he started laughing at his jokes in science. The first time had been a complete accident. He hadn’t meant to say the joke out loud, they usually just pop into his head but this time when the teacher had asked if anyone knew the distance between the sun and the earth, he hadn’t been able to resist muttering a quiet, “Hella far” in response. After he said it he’d heard a small laugh from the desk next to his and turned to smile at them, surprised anyone was paying attention to him enough to hear it. The kid wasn’t even looking at him, he was staring down at his desk shyly smiling to himself and Dean had instantly wanted to keep making jokes to see how loud he could get the kid to laugh. So that’s what he’d done. And he’d gotten more than several good laughs. He learned that his name was Castiel and he was also the same person that ran track during practice most days but he’d never actually had a conversation with him more than a question or two about what was going on. However, his curiosity was definitely peaked. Castiel was a genius at science, so how on earth could he be so bad at English?

“I-I mean sure I’ll do it. Why not? Especially if I’m the prodigy that you think I am.” Dean added with a smirk, trying to regain at least some of his cool composure. 

Mr. Lafitte returned it with an eye roll but couldn’t help smiling as he replied, “That’s great Dean, I’m very excited to see what y’all can do together. I definitely think you can help him. His name is Castiel Novak and he’s a… special case. He’s quiet so just be patient with him. I think you’ll handle it well because your brother seems to be more on the quiet side too. I just need you to write down your number for him so he can contact you and work out a convenient time and place for both of you.” 

He held out a scrap of paper and Dean wrote down his number, then as an afterthought added a small ‘Dean’ to the top which he immediatly realized was stupid but it was in pen and therefore too late to erase. Like he’s not gonna know who I am, the pretentious part of Dean thought to himself. The more reasonable part was thinking that Mr. Lafitte was sure to tell him, so the ‘Dean’ wasn’t really needed for clarification. Why was he suddenly over thinking this? And what did he mean by ‘special case’? Was that just ‘teacher’ for introverted?

He shrugged off his thoughts and handed the paper back to Mr. Lafitte who thanked him again before going to a subject that never got anywhere but was frequently brought up between them, “And Dean, in case you were curious, it also happens to look exceedingly good on a resume or scholarship application if you ever do decide to pursue your writing more avidly.”

“I know that my writing is good or whatever but I-” Dean started grumbling in response but was quickly cut off by an angry Mr. Lafitte. This was as angry as Dean had ever seen him now that he thought of it.

“Dean. Listen to me. Your writing is not just ‘good’ or ‘adequate’, it’s exceptional. You have a way with words that few people have, let alone high schoolers. I don’t want to see you waste this opportunity when I can see how much you enjoy it,” Mr. Lafitte spoke with an urgency that shocked Dean. He’d never, in all of high school, had a teacher believe in him as much as Mr. Lafitte did, it was almost enough for him to actually consider it. But almost as soon as the thought happened it was struck down in his mind. There was no way in hell that he could be a writer, his dad wouldn’t even look at him and he couldn’t stand seeing the disappointment on Sammy’s face if they cut ties over such a petty thing. 

Instead of trying to explain everything to the teacher Dean muttered an inadequate ‘Thank you’ and a disingenuous ‘I’ll think about it’ and walked out carrying enough shame to make his feet drag on the way out.

Dean didn't get to see how Mr. Lafitte picked his paper out of the trashcan and put it into a drawer with the rest of the essays Dean, and many other students, had thrown away.

…

Later that day in the locker room before practice he was still holding onto the shame that he felt as he changed into his shorts and jersey, not joining in on the locker room conversation about recent sexual conquests. Usually it didn’t bother Dean but today it just made him feel sick and he found himself changing as quickly as he could before leaving. 

“You look like someone ran you over with a bus,” Jo told him as soon as he walked out of the locker room. She had been leaning next to the Girl’s changing room directly across from the Guy’s, apparently waiting for him. Like usual her outfit looked like she had just walked out of the Army surplus store, giving her the no nonsense air that Dean constantly teased her about. She really was tough as hell and he respected the hell out of her for it. Jo never took shit from anyone and she’s never afraid to call people out. When he first met her it was jarring but now that he had gotten used to her abrasiveness and she had gotten used to cutting through his bullshit, they were practically siblings. Dean managed a snort and a half hearted smile for Jo’s sake.

“Why hello to you too, Jo,” he replied sarcastically then continued in a tired tone, “And no, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to walk onto that field and kick the shit out of something.”

“Yes sir,” Jo mock saluted him as they walked down toward the field together, “I’m just here to take you back to the Roadhouse afterward. Carry on.”

Right, tonight was a Monday which meant dinner at the Roadhouse for him and Sam. It was tradition ever since Ellen insisted on it while his parents were going through a divorce and it just never went away. The divorce was (as the courts had called it) a contentious one that had left Dean and Sam huddled in their bedroom trying to sleep and ignore the yelling coming from downstairs. 

While they were caught up in talking they had already made it halfway down the stadium steps on the side of the field closest to the school and Jo turned into a row of the seating so she could sit down and maybe read a bit while Dean continued down onto the field. It also didn’t escape his notice that Castiel was already well into his usual run around the track, his grey shirt already damp with sweat in a deep v-shape along his back and chest, under his arms, and his electric blue shorts catching the sunlight as they clinged on his strong thighs. His cheeks were already flushed red, hair just a mess as usual, and Dean briefly wondered whether he should go talk to him about the tutoring but quickly decided against it. He didn't want to interrupt his run, right? It wasn’t because he was nervous or anything dumb like that, what reason would be have to be nervous? 

He was quickly jolted out of his thoughts as a soccer ball hit him in the ankles from behind followed by a smirking Gordon and a sarcastic ‘Sorry’. Dean almost growled but held back, he would make him sorry soon enough. As soon as the rest of the players were on the field he felt himself shift into his commanding I’m-In-Charge-Here voice and posture. Quickly directing stretches and then ordering them to divide into two teams, making sure Gordon was the other team's captain just to enjoy the look on his smug face as he kicked their asses. Dean decided his team was shirtless this time just so he didn’t have to watch Gordon and his cronies on the team strut around as if they were something special. Dean breathed in the clear fall air around them, the weather just starting to lean toward something cold, nippy even, and smiled. Nothing mattered right now but kicking the ball and Dean loved how he could only truly clear his head on the field.

…

Dean plopped down on the sideline bench next to Jo, grinning and glowing from his win. Gordon had put up a fight but Dean knew they never had a chance, Dean was too pissed off to let him play pretend at being captain. He had also seen Sammy come and sit with Jo half way through. He stayed after school for the school’s Lit Mag, so Dean assumed that it must have ended early today.

“How do you manage to get so fucking sweaty. Go get your smelly ass in the shower, you are on something if you think mom is going to let you in the car like that,” he knew Jo was mostly giving him a hard time and even she couldn’t keep the look of mock disgust on her face when Dean was smiling so wide. The win really did feel amazing, he hadn’t smiled like that for a while and it felt good. Sam was sitting on the other side of Jo and his smile looked big enough to mirror Dean’s.

“Aw, come on Jo. Don’t be like that. You know you want a hug,” Dean said and he reached and tried to grab Jo into a sweaty hug but Jo was quick and leapt out of the way right as Dean reached for her. Sam laughed as Jo scrambled up a few more rows, jumping from level to level with Dean following close behind, laughing maniacally the entire time. On the next leap, Jo lost her footing and tumbled into the cramped foot space between rows which only made Sam laugh harder as Dean stood ominously over her.

“NO. Back it up Dean. Dean! Go shower! Don’t-No! I’m hungry and you don’t want mom to have to wait for your slow ass again, you know how she hates waiting,” Jo yelled, trying desperately to avoid a smelly, sweaty hug from Dean. He lost it and clutched his stomach as he started laughing as hard as Sam was. 

“Alright, alright,” Dean said as he offered his hand to help Jo up, still laughing quietly to himself. Jo eyed him hesitantly before realizing she couldn’t get out too easily without his help. She took his hand and starting laughing to herself too, shaking her head.

“I swear to god, Dean.You are such a little shit.”

“Pft Jo! What an outlandish accusation!” Dean scoffed with a hand over his heart in a dramatic mocking pose which sent Sam into another fit of giggles.

“Oh come on Dean, just do as she says and go shower or Ellen really is going to kick your butt again for being late,” Sammy piped up as Jo punched Dean lightly in the arm.

Dean grinned down at his younger brother, ruffling his hair as he passed him at a jog while Sam yelled in protest (“Dean! Stop messing with my hair”). He actually did hurry once he got to the locker room, only a few of the other team members left. As much as he joked, he really didn’t want to make Ellen wait, she loved them to death but Jo had to get her take-no-shit attitude from somewhere. Ellen was well-versed in it from all of her years in owning the Roadhouse and dealing with noisy drunks.

He jogged outside just in time to see Ellen’s old Cadillac pull up to the curb closest to the field, he yelled down for Jo and Sam who walked up the stairs talking and laughing together before all of them piled into the car. Driving with the windows rolled down and everyone talking and laughing together allowed Dean to forget everything else and just enjoy the feeling of home.

… 

When he and Sam got home after dinner it was already pretty late and the brothers both went to their separate rooms to do homework for a while. After laboring over his algebra homework for an hour or so he heard three knocks on the wall separating him and Sammy’s room. Dean smiled to himself as he knocked back. This is how they said goodnight to each other when they didn’t want to risk running into their dad in case he was back from the bar early. 

Dean continued working for a while more before he stripped to his boxers and crawled into bed, grabbing his phone off the desk. Dean glanced at his phone and saw he had received a message from an unknown number, he looked at the time stamp and realized it was from hours ago. Shit, I hope he didn’t think I would do that on purpose. 

“Hello, I’m Castiel. This is Dean, correct?” Dean almost laughed at how formal he sounded, especially for someone in his same grade. He decided to stick with a short and sweet, “Yeah, this is Dean.”

“Dean… Who?” Well shit. Dean really wasn’t overly excited about telling this guy he needed tutoring but he seemed really clueless to who Dean was. 

“Oh Sorry, I thought you knew. This is Dean Winchester. Mr. Lafitte was supposed to tell you that I’ll be tutoring you for his class? I thought he did.” Dean replied, trying to sound as casual as he did when he spoke.

“Oh. He didn’t tell me who, just gave me a slip of paper with a telephone number and ‘Dean’ written on it, and since there are three Dean’s in our year alone, I figured it could be any of you. Um. Do you think we could schedule a tutoring appointment for as soon as possible? I need help on a current essay.” Oh good so he did know, some of Dean’s worry faded but it was quickly replaced with more. How bad did this guy’s writing have to be if he was so eager to be tutored? Dean also couldn’t help but chuckle at how long Castiel’s message was and immediately thought of something clever to reply with. 

“Woah, woah Castiel. No need to text me an essay right now, we haven’t even started. ;) And about the appointment… yeah of course we can if you want. Does tomorrow work for you?” he couldn’t help adding the winking face. He was a hopeless flirt.

“Tomorrow is perfect, time and place?” Dean deflated, he was hoping for some kind of reaction but Castiel seemed to be all business. Instead of being deterred, Dean only felt more motivated to get a reaction out of Castiel, he had just the thing in mind.

“How about I drive you. I’ve got the perfect place in mind.” 

“Where is this ‘perfect place’?”

“Uh, it’s a surprise, you’ll just have to see.”

“I can’t say I particularly enjoy getting into cars with strangers without knowing where we are going...” Dean tried to think of a reply to get him to agree and decided to try and charm him into it. 

“Oh come on Cas, where is the fun in that? Live a little.”

“Fine, Dean. Do you have practice tomorrow? If so, I could just finish my run late and go to this ‘perfect place’ with you afterwards.” Dean smiled at his success, and was slightly surprised at the question, Dean thought Cas would know the practice schedule, he ran on the same days they practiced. Dean also hadn’t realized that he had used the nickname, half out of laziness for typing out ‘Castiel’ and half subconsciously. 

“Yeah, I do actually. That’ll work. As long as you hit the showers because I’m not having anyone stink up Baby.” Dean realized too late that Cas might not know that Baby was his car but he didn’t question it in his reply.

“I can manage that. I am going to go to bed. Goodnight, Dean.” Dean smiled once again at how formal he sounded and wondered if he also talked like that. 

“Alright, awesome. Night Cas. See ya tomorrow.”

Dean laid there for a couple more minutes turning the conversation over and over in his head. Trying to think of what Castiel would be like in person before he finally gave into sleep.


	3. Dean Really Sucks at Staying on Topic

Castiel woke sweating and gasping, desperately attempting to claw his way out of the nightmare he’d been trapped in. As he laid there trying to take deep breaths, flashes of it kept popping up unwanted in his head. The showers at school suddenly not having any stalls. Dean walking in while cas is still showering. Cas didn’t want to remember the rest, the disgust he imagined on Dean’s perfect features still made him want to curl up in a ball. He hoped Dean wouldn’t be that bad, not a lot of people are, usually they just stopped talking to him. Which really was preferable to when they did, at least in middle school. But he didn’t have to worry because Dean wasn't going to know. Not yet at least.

 

Cas had been absolutely freaking out since Dean had told him the plan last night. It was one of his biggest fears to be outed to the whole school and this was the situation he was most likely to slip up in. Realistically, it would be fairly easy to pass under the radar. He would just need to stick to the shower stall, dry off there, and then he could slip his boxers on under the towel before stepping out into the dressing area. Nobody would see anything and he would be fine, and even though he knew that, he still felt his heart beating a little unevenly in his ribs as he got up.

…

The whole day had passed uneventfully and after running a solid five miles that afternoon, finishing each in under nine minutes except his cool down, he decided it was time to stop and shower. Besides, he needed the privacy of being the first in the locker room to feel even relatively calm.

 

Before walking up the stairs, Cas took a glance at the practicing athletes and let his eyes catch on the way Dean was aggressively charging toward the goal, moving the ball agilely around the opposing team. When Dean scored he was congratulated enthusiastically by the rest of his team and the triumphant smile on his face made Cas simultaneously want to run up to him and run away. He opted for the latter and turned up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He wanted a big enough buffer of time between him and the team so he could already be dressed by the time they got there.

 

The shower went how he expected, which is to say he showered quickly and no one walked in on him. He had just gotten his jeans on when he heard the squeak of shoes echoing on the bathroom tile covering the floor. He quickly pulled his shirt over his head before turning around, avoiding letting whoever it was from seeing his scars. The only person outside of his family that had seen them was Charlie and he knew it wasn’t her, not because she wouldn’t be the type to walk into the Boy’s locker room (because she would absolutely do that) but because she had skipped school today for some nerd convention thing. To his surprise it was Dean that had gotten in first. As far as Cas knew he was never in the showers before the rest of the team had already gone in (he was usually still training or talking in the bleachers when Cas left). But here he was. Cas couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so he ended up just standing there awkwardly and by the time Dean noticed him, he had already stripped off his shirt and was walking toward a curtained stall. Cas had never been close enough to see just how many freckles Dean had but now that he was only a few feet away he could see they were arched across his back and chest like stars. It made Cas want to step closer to see what constellations he could make from them. That’s when he remembered he was still staring and that Dean was looking right back at Cas with a slightly amused look on his face.

 

“Enjoying the view?” Dean said and Castiel’s eyes almost popped out of his head which just made Dean start laughing uncontrollably. Cas could feel his cheeks going a shamefully dark shade of red and Dean seemed to notice it because through his laughter he added, “I’m just messing with you Cas. I’ll just shower real quick and meet you outside.”

 

Words failing him once again, Cas just nodded quickly before throwing his duffle over his shoulder next to his backpack and walking out of the room, trying not to make it noticeable that he was practically running.

 

Once perched on the top bleacher, he tried to read the book they’d been assigned in English until Dean was done but only managed to scan the same paragraph over and over without understanding a single word of it. Eventually he gave up and let his mind wander. What did Dean think of him? Cas knew he shouldn’t have stared, but really could he blame himself with Dean being the perfect human specimen that he was? He could only hope that Dean wasn’t thinking he was some creepy weirdo now. He didn’t seem phased by it, but that was no guarantee. All he could do was wait and see if he mentioned it or looked at him like he had three heads now... then they could hopefully go off to wherever Dean had planned so he could save Cas’ grade and in turn his social life.

...

About fifteen minutes later Cas looked up from his phone to see Dean coming out of the locker room wearing an old pair of jeans, ripped at one knee and worn white in some places, a black shirt and the leather jacket that was his trademarked look.

 

“Heya, Cas, what do you say we get going?” he asked, smiling easily at Cas. Oh good. Castiel liked the pretending-it-never-happened game.

 

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” Castiel said awkwardly, slipping his cellphone into his pocket and standing up, grabbing the navy duffle that held his running clothes while slipping on his backpack at the same time. He had brought a binder of old essays, a draft of his latest, his laptop, and some homework for all of his other classes just to make sure he had everything Dean might need to help him.

 

“Oh, Uh, Yes I am ready to leave when you are,” Cas said as he realised he hadn’t answered the question and Dean was still looking at him expectantly. Wow, he doesn’t even have to guess why my writing is so bad if I can’t even answer a simple question, he thought to himself, giving a small sigh and internally rolling his eyes at how dumb it was to overthink everything he does around Dean. He seemed like a decent guy, and Cas realized he had little to no reason to be nervous anymore. He had already gotten the shower out of the way, which was what was stressing him out the most. All he had to do now was survive sharing his embarrassingly bad essays, right? That really wouldn’t be too hard.

 

“Alright, Baby’s this way.” he grinned, making a gesture to the parking lot before starting off in that general direction with Castiel following. So it is a nickname for the car, Cas thought before Dean started talking again, regaling him on what sounded like his most prized possession. It would make sense with how he flaunted it around and used to it ensnare girls like moths to a flame. No one could resist a beautiful car, and as Cas walked up to it, he too felt himself falling under the spell of the sleek black epitome of good old American Muscle.

 

“She’s a 1976 Impala. Used to be my dad’s, but he gave her to me for my 16th birthday, since he didn’t really want to keep her up, and I was more than willing to,” he explained as he lovingly ran his hand along the hood before opening up the door.

 

“Hop in,” he told Cas as the engine rumbled to life in his hands. Cas slid into the passenger seat after putting his duffel in the backseat as Dean had instructed, relishing in the fact that he was actually in Dean Winchester’s car. The same car that had girls practically throwing themselves at Dean for a chance to ride in. Cas tried not to let on to Dean how much he was enjoying it as he took it all in. The car smelled of leather cleaner, lemons, and something that he could only describe as Dean. Like gasoline and heavy metal but at the same time something softer, like the smell of home.

 

“Well, I hope you like classic rock and not just gospel music or whatever shitty pop they have now,” Dean said, breaking Cas’ reverie and pointing him toward a box of tapes over his shoulder. “And if you don’t then you’ll just have to deal with it,” he continued and the smile that Dean threw his way helped reassure Cas that he was just messing around. Before Cas could be anxious about his merely causal interest in classic rock and limited knowledge of it, he recognized a band name scrawled neatly on the front of a tape. Cas smiled, proud of himself while silently thanking God that he might not look like a complete idiot to Dean after all.

 

“We’re only gonna be in here for a little while anyway. The Roadhouse is close.” he said, and Castiel slid the AC/DC tape from the box in the backseat and directly into the slot. The deep sound of bells ringing at the start of ‘Hells Bells’ came reverberating through the speakers.

 

“AC/DC, huh? Someone raised you right, Cas.” Dean said, turning and grinning at him infectiously, and it felt like a wink in a smile, as they sped off out of the parking lot fast enough to have Cas clutching the door and bracing himself on the seat.

…

It was about thirty minutes into the session and they had accomplished… Absolutely nothing. Dean had been asking almost non-stop questions since they had arrived and sat down, not a single one of them were in any way related to tutoring Cas.

 

“So, what’s your favourite food? I haven’t asked that one yet. Mine’s got to be my aunt Missouri’s apple pie. I swear, It’s like pure heaven on your tongue.” Cas gave a small, slightly annoyed huff at the continuation of Dean’s frivolous getting-to-know-you questions. No matter how much Cas wanted to sit here and get to know Dean, he needed him to focus, Cas’ grade depended on it. But he couldn’t just ignore his question, so he made sure Dean saw his eye roll before answering.

 

“My favourite food is a cheese burger. I love them, but I can’t exactly cook them, or anything, so I only really get to have them on special occasions.” Cas answered, his mouth watering at just the thought of a cheeseburger. He realized he must be hungrier than he thought as he swore that he was hallucinating the smell of one now. Cas looked back at Dean to find a grin splitting his face nearly in half.

 

“Well aren’t you lucky you got me for a tutor,” Dean told him still smiling widely. Cas had no idea what Dean meant and what on earth it had to do with Cheeseburgers but he didn’t have a chance to ask before Dean stood up and walked toward the bar they passed on the way in.

...

When they had got here, Dean had led them to a corner booth as he said hello to a woman named Ellen standing behind the counter. They had a quick conversation that included introducing a flustered Cas (thankfully not mentioning the tutoring) and saying that they would be over there if she needed him. She looked like the type of woman who would beat your ass if you messed with her or her family (which Dean obviously was to her) and Castiel found he had a lot of respect for her already.

...

By the time Cas focused back on Dean, he was already leaning on the polished wood of the bar to talk with the girl cleaning shot glasses. She looked to be about their age with long blonde hair and a fierce composure that softened when she saw Dean. Is everyone in love with him? Cas couldn’t help thinking to himself. Dean smiled charmingly at her and gestured back at Cas, both of them turning to look at him as he blushed and was suddenly very interested in the table top. It wasn’t very long until he plopped back down and slid into the booth next to Cas whose head snapped up at the movement.

 

“They should be ready in a couple minutes,” Dean said, which only caused Castiel’s face to contort into a confused look.

 

“What will be rea-,” Cas was only able to start on his question before Dean cut him off sharply.

 

“Another surprise,” Dean grinned and Cas knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him on the subject. Might as well try to finally get on topic now.

 

“Okay. I brought some old essays for you to read over, so you could maybe start identifying the source of where the hell I’m getting such bad grades from,” he started, taking the binder from his backpack and handing it to Dean. Also taking his laptop and setting it on the table between them, booting it up to show him the more recent drafts. The corner booth allowing them to sit next to each other and see what the other person is doing. “I usually go through anywhere from 3 to 5 drafts, but the essay on top went through 7.” he added, as he saw it worth mentioning how hard he really did try on these essays

 

Cas could see the hesitance on Dean’s face at having to work but he hoped the pleading look on his own features would get Dean to actually start helping him. He seemed to cave in and flipped open the binder.

 

“Alright,” Dean muttered as he began to read the essay, “Let’s have a look.”

 

The pronouns were all wrong, these were written in a more fictional style than anything else. Switching back and forth between first and third person without warning, almost like he was trying to keep it formal but just couldn’t manage it, like he got distracted. Dean had to admit, they were all pretty good, and the ideas were all there, but it just wasn’t how it should have been written. Dean gnawed gently on his bottom lip as he continued to read, skimming over a total of four essays as Castiel booted up his computer so he could show some of the more recent drafts. “So, I’m seeing that these are more informal than they should be, but they don’t communicate your ideas very well. I like that you aren’t afraid of your subjects and that it’s very head on, but it also needs to be formal and concise.” Dean said thoughtfully, continuing to read.

 

“Here they are, two cheeseburgers with extra fries,” Jo said and they both looked up to see her balancing two plates in her hand, fries dangling precariously off the edges. Dean smiled up at her and Cas couldn’t reply over the sound of his growing stomach.

 

“Thanks, Jo. Much obliged,” He thanked her and winked. She just rolled her eyes and set them down before smiling and touching his shoulder affectionately, walking away again.

 

Cas tried not to think about what there could be between the two of them and instead started wolfing down the giant cheeseburger and almost groaned as the juicy perfectly cooked beef melted in his mouth. The Dean burger was absolutely wonderful, much like Dean himself for ordering it for him (and paying for it, much to Castiel protests of ‘I can take care of myself, Dean’). Dean’s company and the warm food in his stomach made Cas so content and happy he didn’t think he could stand it.

 

They spoke like old friends, Castiel mentioning the jokes in science class and how ridiculous they got sometimes, and Dean agreed while laughing. He left off the fact that most of the time nowadays, he really just made them for Cas and while the thought had crossed Cas’ mind, he just dismissed it as wishful thinking. After they had both finished their absolutely heavenly burgers and crunchy fries, Jo brought them dessert on the house, a slice of apple pie for Dean, and pecan for Castiel as if she had somehow known that it was his favourite kind. They were able to briefly touch back onto the topic of tutoring long enough for Castiel to take some notes on what he needed to watch for, but soon after they realized Cas needed to get home. To Cas’ surprise (and hope), Dean looked just as disappointed that it was over as Cas was.

 

As Dean drove him home, they scheduled another appointment for two days later, on Thursday, agreeing that twice a week should be enough. “I’ll text you my address, well, both of them, just in case of an emergency or something. My parents are divorced, so that’s why there’s two.” he said, a tone of ‘please don’t ask’ in his voice.

 

Cas could recognize the tone easily and didn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable, so he left the subject alone. “Very well. You know where my house is if you need anything,” he replied as they pulled up into the drive, “Also, thank you for the ride home. I’ll see you Thursday. Goodbye Dean.”

 

“See ya Cas,” Dean said right before Cas closed the door.

 

They were both looking forward to it.

…

Once he was finally at home he found Michael’s note on the counter saying he would be late because of work. Again. Cas was used to it but he couldn’t help being a little disappointed that it would be another night he wouldn’t see his father. Sighing he walked up the stairs and into his room, slipping off his pants before laying down on his bed. Trying to remember the details. The whole experience had honestly felt more like a date than a tutoring session, and it made Castiel want to continue going.

 

Unfortunately the remembering included the way Dean and Jo acted together. The way she’d touched his shoulder, teasingly and fleetingly, made it feel obvious to Castiel that the two had to be dating, which shouldn’t have made his heart do the painful squeeze that it did. It triggered the realisation of just how hard he really was crushing on Dean. He knew he wouldn’t have a chance anyway because Dean was straight anyway, but it still made it feel even more hopeless than before. He was the epitome of Prom King, and he seemed to flit around in the world of endless dating like a morally flexible butterfly.

 

Even if Dean was bi, he would probably begin to see Castiel as a girl once he found out about him. He might even start misgendering Cas. At the extreme he would even talk to Cas about him ‘detransitioning’. That thought terrified him, so many things could go wrong. What would he really do? Would he even consider something as awful as a complete disregard of Cas’ feelings like that? The thought that Dean would force him to change disgusted Cas and left him with a sour taste in his mouth.


	4. John Winchester is a Huge Asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Life happened and WhateverWorks4You is moving currently, so we've been working as hard as possible on this chapter.  
> We've decided to post two chapters in one day to make up for it, though this one's plenty long. ;p  
> From now on, we've decided to start giving some TW's, because if anyone squicked or got triggered reading our story, that would be super unfortunate. This chapter deals with John's abuse, and also includes some violence.  
> Love always, Newpotato and WhateverWorks4You! Happy reading, and comment and leave some kudos if you like it!

That Friday as he was driving home after school, Dean realized he couldn’t get Cas off his mind. The shorter, bed-headed guy was so… He really didn’t have the words to describe it. And that’s saying something because words were Deans forte. He decided to try thinking it out, searching for the right combinations of syllables and sounds to describe Castiel. He was hilarious, even though his jokes were mostly quite lame- the complete deadpan delivery of them sealed it for Dean. Cas made him laugh, made him smile in the same way that he did when he won a soccer game. The careful consideration that he had for Dean’s advice on essays made Dean feel like Cas was actually listening to him. Not just hearing the words, but actually taking them, examining them, turning them over in his hands to see how they felt, how they could help. Something Dean definitely wasn’t used to. On top of that Cas was so careful in the way that he did things it made Dean feel clumsy and awkward in comparison. Cas also had this perpetually intent look on his face, like the world was a puzzle he was trying to solve except he didn’t have any clue what the picture was supposed to be. Dean had no idea that all of that stuff was locked in his head but it was. Vivid and real and comfortable and most certainly confusing. Had he really noticed all that after two tutoring sessions? 

Dean snapped back to the present and realized he hadn’t been keeping track of where he was going, suddenly finding himself on the block where his dad’s house sat (although ‘slumped under it’s own weight’ was probably a more accurate description). 

As Dean pulled up, he tried to imagine what Cas might see. The house looked drunk, slanted just enough for you to question its structural integrity as you stepped inside. The shutters drooped and the awning resembled a half constructed circus tent on the brink of collapse while the windows themselves were a hodgepodge of duct tape, tarps and cracks. The walls looked like they were held up more by spiderwebs and sheer will power than anything else. Some people say that houses reflect their owners, and Dean couldn’t agree more. This house looked like John. Ugly in ways they hadn’t even made words for yet. However, John was the same sickening shade of ugly on the inside while the house’s inside was made redeemable by Dean’s constant cleaning.

Dean sighed to himself and sat on Baby’s cool leather seats for a few more minutes as the song he was listening to faded out. He still hadn’t changed the tape from when Castiel chose AC/DC, and for some reason he didn’t really want to. He wanted to listen to the stuff Cas liked too, and he was a little too happy that Cas happened to like at least one of the bands he did. 

After he finally got out, he carried his backpack inside, trying to be quiet enough that John wouldn’t notice him. Most of the time Dean didn’t know if he was at the bar, home, some woman’s house, or worse, the closest motel, getting laid. But right now John’s beat up truck was piled in the driveway, as far away from Baby as Dean could park her. It was embarrassing to him that his father had hit rock bottom and wasn’t bothering to get up. It made Dean angry, this man didn’t deserve to be their father. Hell, he practically wasn’t. Dean had raised Sammy the half of the year they were required to be at their Dad’s since the trial. And what else could he do? He didn’t have enough money to take him to court yet and get his ass arrested over the near constant abuse. Most of it aimed at Dean because he threw himself in front of Sam (sometimes literally) so the kid didn’t get hurt. Sam was berated with snide remarks at worst but Dean… he had to take the brunt of his dad’s anger in the form of broken glass and even sharper words to make sure Sammy was anything close to safe.

After opening the door, he was nearly overwhelmed by the evidence that John was obviously home and already drinking. Dean had cleaned the night prior until everything would have pleased even mom’s exacting standards. But now it looked like a tornado had ripped through the entire house. He could see a bit of broken furniture here and there, as well as garbage everywhere but where it was supposed to be. The creaking of the floor was all the warning he had before he saw John pacing the front room directly to Dean’s left.  _ Dammit, too late to sneak away now. _

“So, got a call from your school, Dean,” John started, a drunken slur obvious in his words, his tone a practiced ease that dripped with malice, “Told me you’re gonna get on the Honors Roll. High up.” Dean steeled himself as best he could for the attack he knew would come. They happened whenever he ever managed to accomplish something that had to do with his academics. Any pride he would have felt over actually making the honor roll quickly dissipating into tense anticipation of the overused speech he now awaited. 

“Ya know what that means to me, son? That you don’t focus enough on your sports. That you’re lollygagging and doing unnecessary homework when you could be training, when you could be getting better, getting scholarships to anywhere you want to play for.” Dean stopped listening whenever John told him he didn’t focus enough on his sports. He was the team captain, for god’s sake! He was fine. He ran a few miles daily, or at least made an effort to, and these attacks weren’t worth his time. For Sammy’s and his mom’s sake (and maybe his own if he allowed himself to think it), he would continue to try his hardest in school no matter how many times John said that. 

“You’re just bein’ a baby, you’re bein’ a girl, Dean. You’re not a girl, you’re s’pposed to be manly, supposed to be a man. A strong man, who’s gonna get married and have a kid and train that kid to do sports, work on cars, shoot guns, like I taught you. I raised you right and then your momma went and made you a big ol’ softie, made you a girl. She always wanted a girl, Dean, are you gonna be a girl?” John rambled, the sneer on his face growing with each gut punching word. John was obviously getting angry, the drunken flush darkening to rage in his face. Dean grit his teeth but tried to stay calm and not let the words get to him. He wasn’t a girl. He was a man. He stood up for his brother, he protected his family, his real family (mom and Sam) to the best of his ability. Something John hadn’t done in a long time. It was bullshit. A teenager shouldn’t have to be the one raising his baby brother half the time but John was forcing him too. He would never give up on Sammy or let an asshole like John hurt him. So Dean was used to this, but it still managed to hurt like hell every time. 

After a few more rounds of this verbal abuse, John getting louder and louder, and Dean breaking more and more, he finally let go. He turned away from Dean furiously and walked to the other side of the room, picking up a half-full beer bottle then chugging it down. Before Dean could process what was happening, the sound of smashing of glass filled his ears and he saw John’s hand rear back. He barely managed to get an arm up to protect his face before he heard the other half of the bottle smash into the door behind him, littering the floor with ugly brown shards.

“Just get outta my sight, kid. You make me sick.” John sneered at him from his position at the window. Before John had the mind to throw anything else, Dean sprung from where he stood and took the stairs two at a time up to the hall bathroom he shared with Sam, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls. He pounded a fist angrily on the door before leaning against it, shaking badly. He didn’t cry anymore but it took him a couple minutes of sitting and breathing before he could process what happened. 

As he slid down to sit against the door, he noticed his arm stung. Bad. He looked down, and saw an angry red cut that was dripping blood down from his upper arm and onto cotton shirt he was wearing. That’s when he finally put the pieces together - John had broken the bottle, sent it flying in his direction, and for once he hadn’t missed like Dean thought he had. 

He pulled up his sleeve to look and winced at the sticky feeling of blood on his skin. The cut wasn’t too bad, not too deep but deep enough to leave a scar for sure. So the usual. Before Dean set about cleaning it, he took a picture on his phone and saved it to a file that held other pictures of injuries he’d gotten from John. Dean had been gathering evidence of abuse for a month or two now, as soon as he had gotten the job at Bobby's. The extra money meant Dean could finally start saving up so he could take John to court with at least a half decent lawyer, something Dean had been eagerly awaiting since the divorce. John was slippery enough that Dean didn’t want to risk getting some half assed state appointed lawyer, losing would just make it so much worse for them both. Dean didn’t know if he could protect Sammy if that happened. He didn’t even want to think about that happening, it was the stuff of his nightmares. 

He focused back on his cut. One problem at a time. He rinsed it gently in the sink, making sure there weren’t any glass shards in the wound, before grabbing out the first aid kit where he kept it under the sink. He held a paper towel over the wound to slow down the bleeding while he opened up the kit, taking out a cotton ball and soaking it with antiseptic. He clenched his jaw and hissed in pain at the initial stinging but continued until the entire cut was disinfected. After it was clean he decided it didn’t need stitches and held the cut together with a few butterfly bandages instead, covering the entire thing with a large fabric bandage. 

He balled up the ruined shirt and stuffed it in the small trashcan next to the sink before he quickly hurried to his room. He let out a sigh of relief at the relative security of his room offered then moved to find another shirt. This all sickened Dean. He had decided a long time ago that he would never become an alcoholic. That he’d never drink himself into oblivion like his father did, hell he didn’t even see the appeal in drinking anyway, now. That he’d never hurt someone he loved like that. Every time John did something like this, it just convinced Dean further that he would never follow in his footsteps. 

Dean came back out of his thoughts and realised it was about time to go pick up Sammy from the school. He moved to the window of his bedroom and peered out between the slats of the blinds only to find John’s car gone. It made his stomach turn to know that John was out there driving drunk but was also selfishly glad that he didn’t have to deal with him as he stepped back out of the house and into the innocent sunlit afternoon.

...

After picking his younger brother up from the school, where he had been busy with Lit Mag, they decided to give in to the beautiful day and drive around with the windows down instead of heading right back home. 

As he pulled Baby out of the school parking lot, Dean felt Sam glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

“Sammy I swear to god if there is something on my face that you’re not telling me about, I will kick you out of Baby right now and you will walk home,” Dean teased. He turned to look at Sam as they rolled to a stop at the light and instead of his usual bitchface in response to Dean’s teasing, Sam was wearing a concerned expression.

“Dean, what’s that?” Sam asked, and Dean looked down to see where he was pointing. As he did, he breathed out a small curse in frustration as he saw edge of the bandage sticking out a     quarter inch from under his sleeve.

“Oh you know how rough sports can get sometimes Sammy, or I’m not sure you do. I don’t know how rowdy they get in Lit Mag,” Dean tried deflecting with more teasing but Sam wasn’t going to let him drop it.

“Dean. Did he hurt you again?” Sam asked with as stern of a tone he could muster while being so concerned. Dean looked back to the road as the light turn green and instead of turning, he went straight through the intersection and into the parking lot for the mall on the other side. He then carefully took his time finding a parking space where Baby would be safe, away from the mass of old, beaten up trucks that you never had to look far to spot in a place like Lawrence. After he was satisfied, Dean turned to face Sam’s worried expression. 

“Listen, Sam. I’m okay. It was just a scratch anyway. Nothing that you have to worry that big head of yours about,” Dean said, trying to keep things light. He knew Sam would figure it out eventually so he might as well tell him now to save them both the trouble later, “It was a clean cut. I disinfected it and closed it up. It’s really not bad, all things considered.”

“It  _ is _ bad Dean! It’s bad that he hits you at all! Why do we have to stay there? They can’t keep forcing us to go back. Isn’t there some law against it? We should just go and live with mom, it’s the only way he will stop,” Sam spoke with a conviction and anger that he only let out when he was truly upset at something. Dean wanted so badly for it to be simple. He ached for it to be as easy as packing up their few belongings into Baby and driving to mom’s house. But it wasn’t it.

“I want that too Sam. You have no idea how much I do. But it’s...it’s not that simple. If we broke the divorce agreement, it could get Mary in a lot of trouble. And if mom got in trouble than we’d just be worse off than we are now. I’m sorry kiddo, you gotta trust me right now, okay? I’m working on it. Besides, next week we’re at mom’s house anyway,” Dean replied, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair and as Sam swatted Dean’s hand away he seemed to give in a little bit.

“Okay Dean. I don’t like it, but I understand. And you’re my brother, of course I trust you. Just...promise me you’ll be careful, okay?” Sam said seriously.

“I promise Sam. You don’t have to worry about me. And now,” Dean grinned, “I don’t know about you but all this talking has made me hungry. Let’s get home and I can cook something. Your choice, anything at all.”

“Anything at all, huh?” Sam tried smiling at his brother through the worry and mostly succeeded but Dean knew better.

“Hey, Sammy it’s okay. Let's just get home and make it to Monday, alright kid?” Dean said with a tone of practiced confidence. He was truly sick of just hoping to survive until they were with Mary again. The weeks with John felt like years and the weeks with Mary felt like seconds. Dean was just tired and frustrated they got dealt such a shit hand at life. But now he just needed to focus on the one reliable thing in his life right now, Sammy.

...

Once they got home, Dean made some dinner for Sammy and himself that consisted of Sammy’s favorite chicken casserole that really just tasted like deconstructed enchiladas. Once they were sure that John wouldn’t be home tonight, they both relaxed and were able to enjoy the fact that they were home and comfortable and now had stomachs full of Dean’s delicious cooking. After both of them ate at least two servings, Dean and Sam both went off to do their homework in their rooms for the rest of the evening. 

Dean finished his earlier than usual and was struck with the nearly overwhelming opportunity of free time, something he hadn’t had in awhile. He decided to treat himself and read the new book Mr Lafitte had recommended to him about a week ago. It was called Will Grayson, Will Grayson and Dean had been more than skeptical of the obviously YA cover when his teacher had handed it to him, saying not for the first time, “You should try branching out from the classics. Read something where you’re the target audience for a change.” Dean had rolled his eyes and taken the book but secretly he was almost excited. He hadn’t read anything YA in a while and was curious as to what they were like. Now that he was half way through it, he allowed himself to admit that it was quickly becoming one of his favorite books. Plus, there definitely wasn’t a lot of diversity in the classics, so that was especially refreshing. Dean loved the comfort and variety that reading gave him but he could feel John’s poisonous words creeping into his stomach again in an aftershock wave. Was he really so.. Un-masculine? Was he so feminine like John had said? Dean knew plenty of guys that did well in school, it didn’t make them any less of men. He didn’t get his panties in a wad over what other people felt or how they acted. But Dean wasn’t different, he couldn’t afford to be. He felt that everyone should be comfortable in their own skin, whatever that took, but with himself, he wasn’t sure how to get to a place where he would be comfortable. Books really were the only place where he could feel safe in his own home, his own person. 

...

“So Dean, what was that all about on Tuesday and Thursday at the Roadhouse?” Jo asked, trying to act casually but Dean could tell she was very intrigued to know the answer. He could also see it was taking all of her willpower not to make a joke about it being a date. 

They were walking out of the school on the sidewalk facing the bus port, Dean heading down to practice and Jo heading off to her car. Both of them enjoying the feeling of being outside after sitting in school all day.

“Oh that…It was, uh, is, tutoring,” Dean answered unsure if Cas would be okay with him telling anyone else about it. To everyone else it would probably look bad if he was being tutored by a ‘dumb jock’, the stereotype the Dean was constantly trying to run away from yet everyone still insisted on pinning to him.

“Oh, Dean that’s great, I mean it’s not  _ great _ but it’s good that you’re getting some help where you need it.” Jo gave a weak smile, an attempted reassurance of sorts. 

Wait.  _ What? _

“Don’t give me that look Dean,” Jo said indignantly at the confusion on Dean’s face, “I know you hate talking about… well about anything. But I just want to say i'm happy for you. It’s a big step asking for help and the guy seemed nice so… Yeah.”

All Dean could do was stare at her. It hadn’t even crossed her mind to ask who was tutoring who. She had assigned him the ‘dumb jock’ label just like everyone else and that hurt. That hurt a whole fucking lot more than Dean should let it. He had all A’s and B’s for the entire year so far and he definitely didn’t flaunt them around but he didn’t tell anyone he got bad grades either. Did everyone really just assume that Dean was an idiot who was only good for sports? Even Jo?

“Come on, speak to me Dean, you’re weirding me out,” Jo continued with a concerned look on her face.

It took a lot more effort than it should have to keep the hurt off his face but he thought he managed pretty well as he mumbled a quiet and useless, “Thanks Jo… I gotta go practice, see ya tomorrow.”

“Alright Dean…. See ya,” Jo answered with a small wave before walking off to the right, oblivious to the hurt she’d just accidently caused Dean. 

At practice he couldn’t help feel more like a ball being kicked around, rather than anyone who dished out the kicks.

…

After practice was over and Dean was feeling slightly better at taking his frustration out on the ball, it was time for him to go to work at Singer’s Garage. It was Coach Singer’s own place, and he had been nice enough to give Dean a job at the beginning of Junior year after Dean had shown an interest in mechanics. Under Bobby’s tutelage Dean had quickly become the best worker there despite his age and now he could probably build a car from the scraps of Bobby’s junk yard. 

The work was always relaxing and therapeutic in the ways that soccer wasn’t, and he loved it. It was all about the gentle and quiet concentration of trying to understand the complex workings of the car beneath you, while soccer was more about pure force and brazen decisions. If you were brazen in decision making with a car, you might end up busting it more. Dean had learned that the hard way once and then never did it again, that’s also when he finally understood Bobby’s advice of treating the car like a wounded animal. They really did feel like they were alive to Dean in a way that the soccer ball wasn’t. They were the exact opposite of each other and Dean found himself unable to decide which he enjoyed more, what he preferred. Long term, he knew he’d probably stick to mechanics, but he still loved soccer all the same. 

Today Dean was continuing his work on an old American beauty that a collector had brought in last week. She was a gorgeous ‘62 Pontiac Grand Prix that Dean had practically begged Bobby to let him work on. She only had a couple easy but time consuming problems and nothing that Dean couldn’t handle, so Bobby had relented under the condition that she was on the side from the rest of his work, allowing Dean time to still help out with the other jobs at the garage. Dean had agreed instantly. 

So today after fixing a transmission on an old Chevy, he had rolled himself under the Grand Prix to check how everything was going. However, he didn’t get very far into his inspection before a he heard the rolling of wheels on gravel and saw the bottom on Bobby’s wheelchair from his position on the ground. 

“How’s she lookin, boy?” Bobby asked as Dean slid out from under her, his face and hands already smudged with grease.

“Good, everything is going well so far. At this rate she’ll be done by next week at the latest,” Dean replied. He reached over to the tool box next to the car and took the rag he had set down off the top, wiping over his face (the one part of him he did mind getting grease on).

Bobby grunted distractedly in response and Dean turned to look at him. He had at least expected a little praise for his efforts, no one else in the garage could have been making progress on an old girl like this without pestering Bobby for advice every other minute. But when he turned around he saw Bobby was looking at his arm with a concerned expression on his face.

“Did that happen here Dean?” Bobby asked. Dean looked down and saw the bandage was again visible from under his sleeve even though he had gotten a smaller one in an attempt to hide it better this morning. 

“No sir. I got it at practice, I must have tripped and caught it on a bleacher,” Dean replied and internally cringed at how easy it was to lie to Bobby, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He knew he had to though - even if he knew his lie was hardly plausible. Bobby was already helping more than he knew by giving him the money to save up for the case. He couldn’t take anything else from Bobby.

The older man narrowed his eyes at Dean from under his usual trucker hat before nodding slowly. Dean knew Bobby could tell that he was lying through his teeth, but he seemed to understand that this was not a subject Dean was willing to breach.

“Alright Dean. Just… be more careful alright?” Bobby asked and Dean recognized the words from his conversation with Sam yesterday.

“Yes, sir. I will. Don’t worry about me.”

Bobby huffed a laugh, “Fat chance of that, boy. You are constantly running yourself into the ground with all the stuff you do. I sure as hell ain’t gonna stop worrying just ‘cause you tell me to.”

Dean smiled as Bobby’s usually colorful character came back out.

“I didn’t think so,” Dean replied still smiling, silently trying to thank him for everything he does.

“Alright, that’s enough chit chat. Get back to work so we can get paid by that collector folk. We always get some good money outta them,” Bobby said as he swiveled his chair to roll back into the office, probably to do the books for the whole place. He had tried to teach Dean that part of the business too, but apparently his aptitude for words meant that he was absolutely helpless with numbers.

**Dean worked for a few more hours on the Grand Prix before his shift was over and he packed up to head out. He popped his head into Bobby’s office to let him know he was leaving and received one of his common abrasively caring farewells, making Dean smile as he walked back out to Baby. Glad that he had people like Bobby that he could trust. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, in case you were curious, here is a picture of the car Dean is working on for the collector!
> 
> http://assets.hemmings.com/story_image/191391-1000-0.jpg?rev=3
> 
> It's a pretty nice car and I thought it would be fun for ya'll to see what it looks like XD
> 
> Happy reading! 
> 
> ~WhateverWorks4You


	5. Castiel Has Some Bad Feelings and Dean Makes it Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry again about last chapter's lateness, but life occurred, and you know, all the normal excuses. But really, no excuse. We do hope the extra length helped though. :)  
> This is sort of where Cas's dysphoria is really shown and is a big focus so if that's a trigger... Well, this chapter might be hard.   
> In the future, we do plan to try and have a sort of little TW right up here just in case, so if it's missing, comment and tell us so we can fix it! We are super happy to have all of you reading, and will continue with our regular weekly updates from here on out.   
> Love always, NewPotato! Now go read!

Castiel woke up feeling a hell of a lot worse than usual. He checked his colorful pill organiser to make sure that he’d taken his anxiety and depression medications, if he had forgotten it might help explain how it felt like the world was actively shitting on him. The previous day’s slot was empty, telling him that, yes, he had taken them, and that wasn’t comforting at all. He couldn’t blame the medication, or lack thereof, for his shitty mood which meant that it was all him this time. Even after all the step of transitioning he had taken, he still experienced the crushing weight of dysphoria, and oftentimes it was major. Today seemed like it was shaping up to be on the extremely shitty side, but there was so much to do that he couldn’t just stay home, no matter how much he wanted to. He had his third appointment with Dean at the Roadhouse tonight, and some essays to turn in to Mr. Lafitte that Dean had helped with. Already he felt like he had improved his writing style, his essays were clearer and he felt like his voice was coming through better. 

…

After math class, he checked his cellphone, it had been going off in his pocket a lot throughout all of class. When he saw the message, he almost dropped the phone onto the hard linoleum of the hallway. His prescription for testosterone didn’t go through at the pharmacy and that meant he needed to go to the doctor, desperately, so he could sort this all out. He knew he had less than half a dose left in the tiny little bottle at home, and today was his shot day. He felt even more fucked over and uncomfortable than before. It felt like every glance he got was a scoff or a judgement, like they all knew that he was not like them and hated him for it. Cas felt sick. 

At the end of the day, he decided to just go home and not worry about running today. He just wanted to take care of himself, give himself the last little bit of T he had and maybe fit in some crying. He would probably feel mostly fine this week with the half dose, but there was no way he would be next. Michael had texted Cas that he would stop by the doctor on his way home from work so Cas really shouldn’t be as worried as he is, but he couldn’t help it. The shittyness had wrapped around him too tightly to shake off now. 

As soon as he got home he practically sprinted to his room, dropping his backpack on the way, not caring to see where it landed. He wanted to scream at his walls in frustration but instead he shucked off his pants and laid in bed, face down, while putting a snuggie on backwards. All the anger and frustration finally exploded from him and he started to sob into his pillow.  _ Why couldn’t he have been born male, why did he have to get stuck in this shitty-ass female body that had to be injected with hormones once a week, and that he had had to modify with surgery to look normal and male above the waist and even then, he had scars? Why did he have to work so hard to be himself?  _ He continued asking the question even though they only made him more miserable. Cas finally decided to pray for a few minutes, he had never gotten answers, never had been given a reason to believe in a god, and probably never would. But it did make him feel just the smallest bit better as if he was throwing the questions out into the great unknown instead of keeping them all locked up. It was enough to stop the painful tears but he didn’t get up, just laid there with his cheek pressed against the dampness on his pillow.

His quiet was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed very closely by a ring of the bell, and he decided to answer. Maybe he would deter them and whatever they wanted with his fucked-up hair and teary face so they would just leave him alone. He was already to the door before he saw his outfit only consisted of boxers, a tee shirt, and a backwards snuggie. Whatever, he didn’t care what people thought of him. He was angry that something did this to him, be it a god or a genetic fucking fluke, and he felt like shit. Definitely not in the mood for and visitors soliciting his house, but yet here someone was. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He yanked the door open with a scowl already plastered on his face only to have it slide away in shock. There on his doorstep was Dean Winchester.  _ Holy shit _ , Cas thought,  _ I had forgotten about tutoring _ . Dean’s grassy green eyes looked frustrated, tipping over into angry even. If he was being honest with himself, it scared Castiel, but then, underneath it all, he saw the worry etched into Dean’s features as well. The worry quickly overpowered everything else in the jade green eyes as he took in Cas’ disheveled state and before Cas had any chance at all to react, Dean took two steps into the house and wrapped his arms around Castiel. At first he was too surprised to respond, but before he could over think it, he was crying again because Dean was warm and the worn leather on Dean’s back was bunched in his hands and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him like this. Like nothing in the world could hurt him as long as he stayed in the embrace. Cas slowly became aware of the feeling of a light cotton shirt under his cheek, slightly damp were Cas’ tears had absorbed into the fabric as well as the softness of old denim on his bare legs. The protection and solidity and comfort of Dean’s body close to his allowed Cas to start breathing deeply, his tears slowly stopping. A chilly breeze came in through the door but he could hardly feel it over the heat of Dean that seemed to seep right through his clothes and directly into Cas’ chest. He didn’t let go. Maybe this was God’s answer. Maybe he was right where he needed to be, maybe he was doing just fine as himself. 

…

As soon as Cas opened the door Dean could tell something was wrong. His face was in a scowl that looked more frustrated and upset than anything close to anger. When he got here Dean had been upset at Cas for not bothering to give him a heads up about cancelling tutoring but it quickly had turned to worry. It didn’t seem like him to skip without saying anything so Dean had decided to check up on him, hoping the entire drive that Cas was home and not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

The more Dean looked at Cas, the more he could see that he had been crying. His hair was matted in some spots and standing up at odd angles in others with his eyes puffy and pink-rimmed,  glistening a much duller blue than any other time he had seen him. He looked like he’d had the shittiest day ever. Dean found that he had the sudden impulse to hold him and not let go, so before he lost his nerve, he stepped forward and did just that. Maybe he did it because something about his sadness reminded Dean of so many other people in his life he didn’t have the courage to help and he was sick of not being brave enough. Or maybe it was something simpler than that, something even he didn’t understand yet. But apparently Cas needed it because after a couple seconds Dean felt hands grabbing at his jacket and Cas shaking in his arms. Dean just held on tighter, if Cas needed to cry the least Dean could do was offer his support, his shoulder.

...

Castiel thought about how terrified he had been to have Dean Winchester tutor him, about how he had begun to fall in love with him. He thought about all the happy moments in their short time together, how Dean had laughed and thrown his head back laughing like Castiel had said the funniest thing in the world after something as dumb as a knock-knock joke. How Dean smiled so brightly Cas felt like he might pass out when they shared fries at the Roadhouse. Cas wouldn’t trade those moments for the whole world and sometimes he could almost convince himself he could be happy just as friends.

He slowly felt Dean’s arms loosen around him as his breathing returned to normal and once again Cas could feel the weight of those shining emerald eyes on him. “Thank you.” Castiel rasped, voice quiet and broken, a melancholy smile gracing his lips as his gaze met Dean’s. 

Dean ruffled Cas’s hair, giving a small smile in return and Cas felt his knees go a bit wobbly. Dean’s face lit up with an idea and he began to speak. “Go change, Cas. We’ve got burgers to eat and Star Wars to watch and tutoring to avoid, okay?” 

Castiel nearly started crying again out of happiness when he saw Dean smile softly again, but instead, his own smile strengthened into something much closer to happy than it had been moments ago. He nods before moving to give Dean another quick hug, nearly floating up the stairs on the happiness and comfort filling him to the point of overflowing. However, as soon as he gets to his room his feelings turn sour and he can feel the  loss and despair replacing the joy he felt. He can’t fall in love with Dean Winchester. It’s not right. Dean already has a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t it was just going to hurt eventually, it always does. With Balthazar had stung so much Cas didn’t think he’d be able to stand it. They’d loved each other. More than anything. But Balthazar’s family didn’t see that… They were devout Christians, they only saw their son as being ‘consumed by sin’. Their homophobia blinded them to anything else, they would never let their son lead a happy life, not with Cas being a boy. Castiel couldn’t help thinking that it really was his fault, even if he knew it wasn’t. If he could have just been normal, been the girl everyone thought he was when he was born,  if he could have just lived his life as that Micah, he and Balthazar could have been together and had a chance at a life together. 

After Cas was dressed and feeling a little less happy, a little less comforted, he met Dean downstairs once again. “Thank you for coming here, Dean. I really… I really needed the company.” He said, deciding not to say more, he didn’t have the courage or energy right now. Besides, that was enough, it was the truth or at least a part of it. 

… 

As always, the burgers at the Roadhouse were practically sinful. This time, Dean had called ahead to Ellen and ordered them, saying it was an ‘Emotional Emergency’ and of course Ellen was more than happy to accommodate. They didn’t even have to go in, Jo had run it all out to the car, giving Cas a small supportive smile that he was thankful for. They had decided to wait and eat them at home for the sake of Baby (“Do you know how bad grease is for leather?”). Dean pulled Baby up to a homely blue house in the suburbs not more than 10 minutes from Cas’ (but then again everything was 10 minutes from everything else because of how small Lawrence was). 

“It’s my mom’s,” Dean explained as he turned off the car and got out, carrying the food to the door with Cas following closely. The door swung open into a bright entryway than immediately made the person coming in feel like they were coming home.

“Dean honey is that- Oh, and who is this?” Cas saw the woman who could only be Dean’s mom turn the corner and smile brightly at both of them. Her hair looked like a lighter version of Dean’s and she had the same hypnotizing green eyes and kind smile.

“Cas, this is Mom, Mom, this is Castiel. I told you about him Saturday?” He provided, followed by a comforting pat on the shoulder as Castiel’s face pinked up, wondering what Dean had told her. This just caused Mary’s smile to become even more brilliant and lovely. 

“Welcome, Castiel. Make yourself at home, okay?” Mary said, pulling Cas for a hug, letting him see where Dean got his seemingly endless kindness from. Mary was like the mom he never had, the mother he had wished for all his years growing up and even now. She was bright, kind, and made an effort to make him feel like he was just another member of their family. His own mother had passed in childbirth with him, and when his depression got bad enough he started to wonder if he was even worth it. He had to make a concerted effort not to cry again with all of the conflicting emotions rolling around his head. Cas nodded into her shoulder, returning the hug. A new smile gracing his face as she pulled away, still holding him by the shoulders. “And Dean’s right, your eyes really are beautiful.” she whispered conspiratorially as she dropped her arms, smirking at Dean. Now it wasn’t just Cas blushing. Dean had noticed his eyes? And, more specifically, called them beautiful? He sincerely doubted it, but took the compliment anyway. 

“Thank you very much for welcoming me into your home, Ms. Winchester.” Castiel replied with another small smile. 

“Please, Castiel. Call me Mary, or mom if you’d like,” she replied. And as she starting walking back into the living room she added, “Make sure Dean doesn’t make a mess for me, will you Castiel?” Making Dean blush more before pulling a laughing Castiel toward the door to the den.

…

Mary looked up from her book and noticed the time on the clock as well as the fact that she hadn’t heard anything from the den in about fifteen minutes. She had a sneaking suspicion that was confirmed as she entered the room, smiling at her findings. Castiel was close enough to be half way in Dean’s lap, his head resting on Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arm wrapped around Castiel. They were both asleep and looked to have been for a while- the main menu on the disk was playing was looping lazily on the television. She knew that Castiel probably had a curfew like Dean did, and probably needed to go home soon. She gently leaned over and shook Dean’s shoulder, whispering in his ear to wake him.

“Dean, sweetie, it’s time to take Castiel home. I’m sure his parents are waiting for him and I would hate for him to get in trouble,” she said and left the room so Dean could wake Cas up. 

Dean woke with a slow grumble, arm instinctively curling around whatever he was holding. It was only after a minute he was consciousness that he realized it was Cas he was holding. Luckily the movement hadn’t shaken Cas from his sleep and Dean tried to wake up enough to see what was going on. It was three movies later and late enough to be dark outside.  _ Shit he hadn’t been paying attention, his mom was probably right, Cas most likely had a curfew _ , Dean thought. He noticed how Cas was sitting close enough to him to be nearly in his lap, curled with his head on his chest. How relaxed and comfortable Cas looked sleeping really shouldn’t have made Dean smile as much as it did but he found himself doing it anyway. He really would have liked to let Castiel sleep more, but he would hate himself for getting Cas in trouble with his parents. He knew the tone his mom had used, and it usually meant something along the lines of, _ “Dean, I love you, but if you don’t follow my instructions, I will ground you from your car, _ ” and that meant that he would need to either get a ride or bike to school or something, like Sammy usually chose to do and Dean would really rather not. He loved Baby too much to do that to her. 

“Hey, Cas, it’s time to get up,” he whispered, gently shaking the other boy’s shoulder. When he didn’t stir, he decided to just carry him to the car, not letting it escape his notice how Castiel was small and light. Mary helped open the door for Dean and even gave Cas a kiss on the forehead before Dean walked him out to the Impala and belted him in, Dean couldn’t help being amazed at how heavy of a sleeper Cas was.

After he pulled up his driveway, Cas stirred at the feeling of the car stopping. 

“Where’re we?” he mumbled sleepily, turning to Dean and blinking slowly, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. Then the whole night came back to him and he swung his head quickly toward the clock on the dash. Oh fuck. It was already 10:30, and he was positive his father was inside, sitting in one of the chairs facing the door just waiting for him to show up. “Fuck. My father is not going to be happy.” he grumbled, giving a sharp breath as he unbuckled the belt and reached for the door. 

“I can explain for you.” Dean offered, and honestly, he wasn’t sure why. He had never done that for any girl he’d kept out too late, never done that for anyone actually. 

“Come on, Cas.” he said, getting out of the car and heading up the front steps with Cas, stopping at the top and knocking sharply on the heavy wood of the door. 

Just as Cas suspected, Michael opened the door, standing as tall and intimidating as possible while raising a brow at the teenagers before him. 

“Castiel, you’re home...late,” his words sharply thrown at Cas before he turned to Dean with his nose turned up in obvious distaste. “And who might this be?” he asked, annoyance and threat clear in his voice. He wondered why couldn’t Castiel just listen for once? 

“I’m Dean Winchester, sir, I’m your son’s tutor. He missed our appointment today, and I came by to find him very upset. I decided that he probably needed someone to hang out with, and I decided to be that person. I didn’t take him as the type of person to purposefully miss an appointment like this and I just wanted to help Cas.” Dean rambled, his face unreadable, head held high, but tense as Michael looked at him as if he was some sort of delinquent. He nearly pushed Castiel behind him when he saw Michael take on a look very similar of the one John made before he was about to lash out. 

“I’m sorry, father, it won’t happen again. I was only planning on staying with Dean long enough to eat dinner and watch a film with him, as he invited me to. I did not anticipate falling asleep, which caused my tardiness” Castiel apologised meekly, able to feel the contempt between Michael and Dean and trying desperately to defuse it. “I should have asked you if I could go with him, and I am sorry I didn’t.” He quickly added on, trying not to get into more trouble than he was already in. “With the news about my prescription,” he began, trying to choose his words carefully so Dean wouldn’t figure out Castiel’s situation before he was ready, “And my feelings this morning, I just sort of buckled under the dysphoria.” He added the last part reluctantly but he knew that if he mentioned his dysphoria to Michael he had a much better chance of surviving the exchange happening between the three of them. His father, even with all his faults, knew how bad it could make Castiel feel. He tried to be quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear what he said as he knew a quick google search would seal his fate, and he also knew he definitely wasn’t ready for that to happen. Not yet anyway. He didn’t even know how Dean felt about gay people, for god’s sake, much less gender-variant people. 

Michael seemed to accept this, relaxed visibly, and simply said, “Very well, then. Castiel. Come inside, the cold is getting in,” Now Michael once again turned to Dean, but this time with an expression of hesitant appreciation, “And I believe I owe you a great thanks, Mr. Winchester. Bringing him home was noble, though I do expect that this should not occur again without me being notified beforehand.” To Michael’s instructions and obvious excusal, Dean turned and headed down the drive to leave after a quick “Yes sir” and a glance in Cas’ direction. Castiel sent Dean a reassuring smile before following Michael’s gesture for him to come inside, closing the door before Michael started reprimanding Castiel gently. 

“Castiel, you know you should not mention things like that in front of company. I know you have expressed your desire not to be ‘out’ so you can live as yourself, ‘stealthy’ as you have put it, and for that to happen, you can’t just out yourself whenever you please. You need to deliberate, think about it. Charlie knows, but she knows what it means to be different, and I don’t know that Dean does. You know searching the term ‘dysphoria’ on the internet will only give results pertaining to gender for the first few pages, and more specifically gender-variant people.” His father went on for a few moments. Then his expression turned softer as he continued, “I am just concerned for you Castiel. But he does seem like a nice boy and I am willing to let this incident go. Just know that there will be consequences if it does happen again without my knowing.” 

“I know, father, I figured that I spoke quietly and that Dean is tired enough that he’s not going to bother remembering in the morning to search, or respectful enough that he will decide to let me speak to him how I need to. I am very tired, father, so if you will allow me to go to bed.” Castiel finished, yawning before beginning towards his room. “Thank you for letting this go. I appreciate the leniency very much, and will not let that happen again without at least a text message.” He truly felt bad, as he could see that all his father wanted was him to be safe. 

Michael knew Dean Winchester was on the soccer team, that he was a jock, that he was popular, that he was a joker and he didn’t want his son to be hurt by such a boy, but Castiel seemed comfortable with him which eased Michael’s hesitation some. “Goodnight, Castiel.”

“Goodnight father,” Castiel said, smiling timidly at his dad from halfway up the stairs.


End file.
